


An Unwanted Christmas Gift

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [9]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: At Christmas, Christmas fic, Crack, Everyone Needs A Hug, Except may, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, IronDad and SpiderSon, Norovirus, Sick Character, Sick Pepper Potts, Sick Peter Parker, Sick Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vomiting, also vomit, but everyone is sick, everyone is sick, how many more tags can i fit in here, most of us do occasionally, not in a creepy way, tony stark hates christmas, tony still drinks away his pain sometimes but he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: Tony Stark hates Christmas, Peter and Pepper love Christmas, May has to work, and everyone gets norovirus.That's it.  That's the story.





	An Unwanted Christmas Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I hate the holidays--my family sucks, and my local friends' families also suck, and I sure as fuck will not fly ANYWHERE during the holidays, and all my routines are throw off, and it's just an exhausting time. So I took a four-day weekend of self-care, and have been drinking since Friday night, and spat out this crack fic that is loosely based on a real-life time my entire family ended up with norovirus on Christmas. Norovirus is the one where you sit on the toilet for twenty-four hours with a bowl in your lap. It's oh so much fun, and the perfect thing to happen on Christmas.
> 
> BAH HUMBUG. 
> 
> This takes place a little further down the timeline of this series. I have stories that will end up "before" this one, but I wanted to spread some Christmas cheer and fomites. 
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

Tony Stark hates Christmas.

There, the secret is out. Tony Stark, despite the decorations and the parties and the fake-media smile he plasters on his face, _hates_ Christmas. He’s always hated it, hated being ignored by his father when he younger, and then berated by his father when he was older. Not even his sweet mother could make him love the holidays. Jarvis tried, he did--he invited Tony to celebrate Hanukkah with him, then did his damnedest to make Christmas perfect, but none of it ever stuck.

Then his parents were killed, and the entire month was ruined forever. Thankfully, Steve and Bucky had tactfully disappeared at the end of the November. Thankfully just about all the Avengers disappeared at the end of November. Even Happy and Rhodey know to make themselves scarce.

Save the Littlest Avenger, who of course fucking loves Christmas, and has joined forces with his fairly pregnant wife, who also fucking loves Christmas. Just Tony’s luck.

That littlest, _shittiest_ Avenger has been stuck to Pepper’s side for the past week and a half, coming with them to leave the requisite Stark Gifts at the compound, and the two of them have been steadily feeding off each other’s excitement, and steadily evolving into some sort of Holiday Hive Mind. Tony knows he brought it on himself, telling May, _of course I can take him,_ when she’d asked, bogged down with covering holiday requests that were now her responsibility as ER Nursing Manager. He’d thought, foolishly, that having Peter around during the worst weeks of his year would be a good thing; after all, the kid is one of four people--soon to be five--who brings him actual joy.

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. He adores them both, his wife and his surrogate son--he’ll admit it, the kid is as good as his--and would lay down his life in a half a heartbeat for them both, and he appreciated how they both crowded against him when he sat in a fog last Sunday, keeping him to one bottle instead of four, but he’s about five seconds from jumping in a suit and disappearing until December 31st. They’d never find him. Fury himself would never find him.

Usually every year, Pepper lets him disappear if he needs to. She has long known how he feels about Christmas, and December in general, but their rule is always that they do Christmas, he gets to complain and-or hide in his workshop if need be, and then she gets to complain about his complaining and-or hiding. It’s their Special Christmas Thing, and maybe even makes him feel a teeny bit better about the whole deal. But with Peter here, it feels wrong to spend his time sulking, especially since there were four whole years where the kid wasn’t around to annoy him at Christmastime. The memories he’s stuck with almost make him want to enjoy the holiday. 

Almost. And Tony needs a break. He doesn’t even know how they got the living room decorated so fast. They’d arrived back from the Compound Thursday night, filled to the brim with podunk off-the-thruway Hibachi that Pepper insisted the baby was craving and Peter immediately agreed to--traitor--and somehow by Friday afternoon it had been transformed into something out of a Rankin/Bass Christmas special.

“Please May, come get him,” Tony deadpans into the phone, glaring angrily at the oversized Christmas tree that magically appeared in the penthouse yesterday morning. Goddamn Pepper being so efficient. “I can’t handle two of them. I need a break. I can’t just run off with him here.”

May just laughs into the phone. “I _told you_ teenagers are a lot.”

“I wish he was just being a teenager,” Tony spits out, eying the frankly hideous sweater that’s lying over the back of the couch. There’s no doubt in his mind that the two demons currently in his home have their own. “But this...May, they’re _feeding_ off each other.”

“Can’t you just tell them to chill a bit, Tony? Say you’re not feeling well, or something.”

“May, my wife is pregnant and Peter is Peter. Would you be able to tell them to chill?”

“Oh, I developed an immunity to those eyes years ago, Tony,” he hears her shift the phone and yell something to someone, then brings it back and sighs into the phone. “I can try to escape a bit tonight, but I’m essentially sleeping in the on-call room until tomorrow night. He’ll be alone in the apartment.”

Oh, God. So apparently both extant Parkers are experts at loading on the guilt. No, Peter being alone won’t do, and Tony knows in his heart that May knows he won’t let that happen. He also knows Pepper won’t let that happen, especially since their minds have literally melded over the past week.

“No, no...I’m not going to leave him alone two days before Christmas,” Tony takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I know, Tony. And I appreciate it, I really do. I know December is hard for you…” May pauses, and Tony can tell she’s choosing her words wisely. “It’s not exactly easy for us either, but you know how Peter is. And you also know he’ll chill a bit if you ask him to.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not looking at the sweater they got me.”

“Who do you think got him into ugly Christmas sweaters?”

“Goddammit, May.”

“Are you making sure he eats at least three vegetables a day?” May’s voice is lighthearted and teasing as she changes the subject, but Tony knows she’s about two minutes away from ending the call.

“No. He’s eating ice cream for breakfast and he completely ignored the broccoli at dinner last night.”

“You can pay for the scurvy treatments when his growth is stunted, then,” May’s tone shifts. “I really do appreciate it, Tony. This year, I just...I can’t even think about him sitting alone. His friends are all away, I’m stuck here because apparently the time of the year with the most illness is also the same time of year as the most accidents and the most suicide attempts...and, well, you’re family now.”

“I know,” Tony sighs again, rubbing his forehead. He feels like sighs are at least seventy-five percent of this conversation. He hears Peter yelp in the kitchen, followed by a laugh from Pepper. “I don’t want him alone either. You know I wouldn’t actually--”

“I know,” May cuts him off. “You’re venting.”

“It’s rough. I can’t get drunk and hide in my workshop, or try and talk Pep into fooling around with a super-kid with super-hearing in my penthouse. And for fuck’s sake, the Christmas music.”

“Has he given you the lecture on exploitation and deviation from the norm in Rudolph yet?”

“Possibly. I’ve mostly been ignoring him and just nodding along.”

“And that’s how you get through it, Tony,” he hears May shift her phone to her other ear. “That, and slipping a bit of rum into his eggnog so he goes to sleep.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“Fine by me. Then you can be the one to say no when he says ‘May lets me.’”

“Why are you always one step ahead?”

“Because I’ve been parenting a teenager for five years. Why don’t you send him out patrolling?”

Tony swallows hard. “Because.” _Because I already lost my parents in this stupid fucking month and I’m not going to send my kid out to die in the streets too just because I’m a grinch who fucking hates Christmas._

“Yeah,” May huffs. “Me, too. Listen, Tony, I have to go. I really do appreciate it. And Peter does, too. We don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me when you’re next break is so I can vent some more.”

“I’ll give you five minutes when I call Petey tonight. Give him a kiss for me!”

With that, Tony’s phone goes dead. He pockets it, shaking his head and glaring at the hideous red and green sweater still taunting him from the back of the sofa. He turns on his heel and heads towards the kitchen, resigned to his fate.

And what a fate it is. He walks in on the end of a conversation apparently about the kid’s friends’ gift-giving prowess.

“--Ned and I usually just split a lego set. It’s easier and what we both want anyway.”

“And what about MJ? When will she be back?”

“Not until after New Year. But I already know what she did.”

“What?”

“She painted me a picture of Aquaman riding Cthulhu. Who says controlling sea creatures is a lame power?” 

“I don’t know what that means, Peter.” Pepper giggles as Tony rounds the corner into the kitchen.

“Trust me, if you did, you’d think it was funny,” Peter grins at her, tossing something into his mouth. 

It’s hard not to smile at the scene, but Tony manages not to: Pepper is standing behind the counter, her swollen belly poking out from under an absolutely atrocious red and green sweater, with lights across the front that dance in time to the music playing. She’s dipping tiny, immaculate spheres of something into melted chocolate, carefully setting them on wax paper, with nary a drip between the glass bowl and the counter. Peter is sitting on the other end of the island, in his own disaster of a sweater, somehow covered in powdered sugar and licking chocolate off his fingers. He’s carefully examining a sheet of completed chocolate balls, apparently looking for something, because every fourth or fifth ball ends up in his mouth.

“Hi, honey,” Pepper looks up and smiles when Tony walks in, her workstation and self immaculate compared to Peter, who is an absolute mess. 

“Hi,” Tony pulls his most exaggerated grumpy face, but leans in to kiss her regardless. She tastes like chocolate and coconut. He walks over to Peter’s disaster zone. “From your aunt,” he kisses his hand and smacks the top of Peter’s head, which sure enough, is dusted with powdered sugar.

Peter only grunts and ducks, picking up another ball and shoving it into his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“Qua-ity co-trol,” he mumbles around his mouthful, leaning over the counter to examine some balls farther down the line.

“My balls are all perfect,” Pepper smirks and rolls another off her spoon.

“Maybe to your eyes,” Peter hops of his stool and drags it around the end of the marble island, apparently to get a different angle. “But I can see some bare spots.”

“Of course you can, sweetheart. Just don’t ruin your dinner,” Pepper looks directly at Tony and rolls her eyes; Peter the Human Garbage Disposal is incapable of ruining his dinner. 

“Or make yourself puke,” Tony grimaces. “I might be willing to put up with--” he waves his arms around at the counter full of chocolate balls and the table piled high with sugar cookies waiting to be frosted. “--this. But I draw the line at anyone getting sick.”

“Nobody is going to get sick, Tony,” she picks up her bowl to bring to the sink, purposefully bumping him with her belly on the way. “But you’re not getting out of dinner and a movie tonight, so go have some eggnog and sulk while you can.”

“Yeah, go have some eggnog, Mr. Stark,” Peter looks up and smiles cheekily, apparently taking Pepper’s snark to mean he can push his luck. 

“You,” Tony glares at him. “I will lock you in your suit and wrap you in lights and weld you to the top of the Tower for the night.”

“If you do that I’ll freeze, and then you’ll have to explain it to May.”

“Your suit has a heater.”

“I’ll break out,” another chocolate ball goes into his mouth.

“Not with what I’m gonna use, I’ll--”

“Tony,” Pepper steps in front of him and holds out a tumbler of eggnog. Tony can smell the rum. He hasn’t spent nearly as much time as he’d like drunk. “As much as we appreciate your martyrdom, you don’t need to hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” Tony grumbles, but he takes the glass. She put _a lot_ of rum in it.

“Yes, you are. The deal is still on, Tony, even if Peter is here,” she gives him a little push. “Go, we’re going to finish up and we’ll summon you when dinner is here.”

“I’m going,” he takes a gulp of the eggnog, then grabs the bottle of rum sitting next to the sink. “You,” he points at Peter, who has moved down the counter to the newest batch. “Don’t you eat all those balls. I expect some to left once all this nonsense is over.”

“Stop saying ‘balls,’ and I might.”

“You’re a monster,” Tony frowns, but he swipes a hand through Peter’s powdered-sugar hair on his way to the elevator regardless.

*****

By the time he’s finally called up from the workshop two hours later, the kitchen is entirely clean and blessedly, the Christmas music has been turned off. Tony has half a mind to program FRIDAY to not allow it, but he has a feeling that’s not covered under the terms and conditions of the Christmas Deal.

A simple spread of Chinese take-out is on the small table between the kitchen and the sitting room, and both of them have changed out of their hideous Christmas sweaters. Tony is a teensy bit drunk, happily floating in the nice little buzz that takes the edge off but won’t leave him feeling like shit in three hours and still allowed him to make the adjustments he needed to on Peter’s Christmas gift.

“Did you eat too many _balls_?” Tony emphasizes the word as he plunks down in the chair next to Peter, who’s pushing his lo mein around his plate, instead of inhaling it like usual.

“Nooo,” Peter rolls his eyes. “I feel hungry--” his stomach audibly rumbles and Pepper giggles as she sets a fresh tumbler of eggnog down in front of Tony, before sitting herself. “--but this doesn’t smell good.”

Tony picks up a carton and sniffs. “Smells fine to me.” He spoons some sesame chicken on his plate.

“No, I mean, it smells _fine_ , but it...doesn’t feel good,” Peter lifts his fork and hesitantly nibbles, then makes a face. “Like, it’s really unappetizing.” 

“Well, try something else, sweetie,” Pepper pushes a carton of what looks like broccoli and mushrooms towards Peter.

“Ughhhh,” Peter’s nose scrunches again as he looks in the carton. “That either.” He places a hand on his stomach as it growls again. 

“Since when do you think Chinese is unappetizing? Since when do you think anything is unappetizing?” Tony glances up at Pepper, who’s starting to eye Peter a little suspiciously. 

“I don’t know,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry--”

“Oh, don’t be sorry, Peter,” Pepper smiles gently, still watching him intently. “I can make you something else, and we’ll have this for leftovers tomorrow for lunch.”

“Thanks, Pepper, but I don’t know if I want anything…”

“Kid--” Tony starts, but doesn’t finish, because he can actually see the color suddenly drain from Peter’s face.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurts, pushing back from the table so violently his chair clatters to the floor. Pepper apparently knows exactly what’s happening, because she goes to stand but before she’s able to get to her feet, Peter is vaulting himself over the kitchen island. 

“Peter, not the sink!” Pepper shrieks, but that’s exactly where he went, barely making it before he starts vomiting violently into the stainless steel bowl.

“Jesus, kid!” Tony pushes away from the table to follows Pepper around the island to where Peter is gagging and retching, completely emptying the contents of his stomach. Pepper reaches him first, reaching to push his hair off his forehead.

“Get it all out, sweetheart,” she rubs his back gently as he continues to heave, turning to face Tony with a grimace. “Water,” she mouths, then turns back to Peter.

Tony swallows down the panic that spiked in his chest--why is Peter sick? As far as they know, Peter couldn’t get sick after the bite--and opens the fridge, searching for a bottle of water. When he turns back, Peter is gasping and crying into the sink.

“Sorry,” he whines, spitting a bit and trying to take a deep breath. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened, it just came up--”

“None of that,” Pepper shushes, rubbing circles on his back and wiping tears off his cheeks. “When it’s gotta come up, it’s gotta come up.” 

“Oh, shit,” Peter gags and retches again as Tony finds his way to his other side, mostly bile joining the rest of his stomach contents in the sink. He lays a hand beneath Pepper’s on Peter’s back; he’s warm through his shirt.

“Kid, since when can you get sick? FRI, scan Peter and the sink. What’s wrong with him?”

“Scanning,” FRIDAY confirms as Pepper reaches to turn the faucet and disposal on, then grabs some paper towels. Peter appears to be finished and is trying to stand upright; he’s shaky and white as a ghost, tears still running freely down his face. Tony frowns as he let’s Pepper shush him and wipe his face and mouth without a single protest.

“Anytime now, FRI. Is it poison?” Tony uncaps the bottle and hands it to Peter, who mutters something and takes it with a shaking hand, tentatively taking a sip.

“Finished, Boss. Peter is not poisoned. His temperature is slightly elevated and he has mild leukocytosis, and biomarkers from the sink indicate the presence of norovirus RNA in his vomitus.”

“What does that mean?” Tony jumps as Peter drops the water bottle and falls back over the sink, immediately bringing up what little he’d managed to swallow. 

“He has the stomach flu, Boss.”

“Oh, god,” Pepper groans from where she’s still rubbing Peter’s shoulders as he continues to retch over the sink.

“From where?” Tony practically yells at the ceiling. “He’s been with us for over a week!”

“Norovirus infection is the most common cause of foodborne illness in the United States. Have you eaten at a restaurant in the last forty-eight hours?”

“The hibachi grill,” Pepper grimaces and drops her forehead onto Peter’s shaking shoulder.

“That I didn’t want to go to!” Tony snaps, bending to pick the water bottle, now half empty, off the marble floor.

“Symptoms come on rapidly within twelve to forty-eight hours of exposure. Based on its epidemiologic literature, norovirus can cause acute infection with inoculation of as few as twenty particles. It is safe to assume that you and Miss Potts are also infected and will begin exhibiting symptoms shortly. Common symptoms include low-grade fever, stomach cramps, vomiting, and diarrhea.”

“Great,” Peter groans, coughing one last time and slowly trying to push himself up from the sink. He wobbles a bit and Tony grabs his arm while Pepper resumes wiping the tears off his face.

“Pepper is pregnant, FRIDAY.”

“Unlike many viral infections, research available to me does not show an increase in adverse effects in pregnant women infected with norovirus, both for the mother or the fetus. Treatment is the same in all individuals: avoid antidiarrheals, and maintaining hydration. Pediatric electrolyte solutions can be the most effective. In extreme cases of dehydration, hospitalization and intravenous fluids are warranted, but most active symptoms resolve within two days.”

“Two days? But Christmas!” How Peter has the audacity to be panicked about Christmas when his face is as green as it is, Tony isn’t sure, but he wants to smack him.

“Priorities, Pete,” Tony hands the half-empty bottle back to him. “I’m more concerned about you shitting yourself as you walk down the hall.”

“I’m not gonna shit myself,” Peter mumbles, but the way he grasps his stomach and shudders indicates it’s a real possibility.

“Nobody is shitting themselves!” Pepper interrupts, taking Peter by the forearm. “Tony, take Peter to his room, I’ll clean up in here, throw out all the food we touched today--”

“What? I wanted some of those coconut balls, Pep!”

“Please don’t say ‘balls,’ Mr. Stark,” if possible, Peter turns a deeper shade of green and leans his head on Tony’s shoulder. There are beads of sweat on his temples; Tony reaches up and wipes them away. His face is very warm and very clammy.

“I will make you some more, Tony. Jesus Christ.” She lets go of Peter’s arm and briefly washes her hands, turning off the faucet with another paper towel, as if it isn’t already contaminated. Ever the rock in moments of chaos, she points to a cabinet next to the oven. “Take Peter to his room, bring a bowl. A big mixing one.”

“I’ll be fine, Pepper,” Peter hiccups, swallowing hard.

“No, sweetheart, we’re all gonna be in this mess together in a few hours. Go take a shower and put your PJs on. FRIDAY, order as much Pedialyte as you can get here in an hour.”

“Of course Miss Potts. May I also suggest a supply of bleach wipes? That is the most effective cleaning agent for norovirus.”

“Yes, thank you, Friday. And some of those disposable barf bags, if you can.”

Tony can’t help but swell with pride--ever the competent captain, Pepper, even in a crisis like this--as he bends to get a large plastic bowl from the low cupboard. His stomach lurches as he stands, and the face he makes must be obvious enough because both Peter and Pepper yelp.

“What?”

“Tony?”

“Yeah, let’s go Pete,” Tony swallows the bile in the back of his throat. “I don’t think I have much time. The end is nigh, kid.”

“Really, Tony?” Pepper rolls her eyes as Peter slowly makes his way to Tony’s side, walking as if he could tip over at any moment. She heads over to the table, collecting the cartons of Chinese food. Her nose wrinkles and she practically sprints to the garbage can. Tony knows she doesn’t have long either.

“We’re all going down, Pep. You’re starting to look green,” Tony smirks, taking ahold of Peter’s forearm to lead him down the hallway. “Don’t throw up on me.”

“You threw up on me.”

“I threw up _near_ you. Difference.”

“It splashed on me. That still counts.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Tony pulls Peter into his room and flicks on the lights. “Take a shower, PJs.” He leads Peter to the ensuite bathroom and pushes the bowl into his hands. “Don’t throw up down the shower drain! Trust me on that one.”

“Ugh, stop, Mr. Stark,” Peter freezes and gags, then swallows hard and blows out a hard breath. “Maybe throw up again, then shower.”

“Figure it out, kid,” Tony feels his stomach jump in his throat, and he practically jumps across the room to the door. “I’ll come make sure you’re alive after I empty out.”

Tony doesn’t see Peter dive towards the toilet, but he can hear it as he slams the bedroom door shut and practically sprints down the hall to his own bathroom.

****

“No, not much diarrhea...yet,” Tony groans into the phone and jostles Peter’s head with his foot. He’s curled up on the end of the bed, head resting on Tony’s ankle. “Pete? You?”

“Nooooo,” Peter groans and curls in on himself, clutching the bright blue plastic bag under his chin just as Pepper emerges from the bathroom, looking like death and yet somehow still a million times better than either Tony or Peter look.

“Pep?”

“Not yet,” Pepper grumbles, collapsing on the bed next to Tony, pushing her toes under Peter’s side. 

“Survey says, ‘not yet,’ May.”

“Just wait, it’ll come. I’ll bring some periwipes when I can get over there,” May laughs, and Tony wonders when May Parker had time to become so _evil_. One by one they’d all fallen, Pepper being the last man standing. She’d just managed to accept the express delivery of Pedialyte, wipes, and disposable bags before throwing up--rather violently--into a large vase by the door.

She’d insisted they all hole up in the guestroom that is set to become the baby’s room, based on the premise that there were two bathrooms--one of its own and a connecting door to the master bedroom ensuite that had recently been installed--and that if anyone missed a bag or a bowl, they wouldn’t have to worry about ruining their own mattresses. Mostly, Tony thinks, she is worried about contaminating as few rooms as possible. Peter had whined, obviously embarrassed, but she’d coaxed him down the hall with a story about some of Tony’s rather impressive history of vomiting, and now he was curled up around a pillow at the end of the bed, half-heartedly watching a rerun of Parks and Rec.

Tony hates that show--one of the characters reminds him of Quill and drives him nuts--but right now he’s honestly too weak to care. He feels too weak to hold the phone up. He knows when, because it’ll be a _when_ he can already feel it, he has to puke again, he won’t be moving. Bless Pepper and her foresight to order the bags.

“Do you have Gatorade or Pedialyte?” May interrupts his thoughts on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, Pepper had some delivered--hang on, FRI, go to speaker--” Tony drops the phone when the sound clicks through the room. Peter flinches slightly at the sound. “--and drop the volume a bit. But yeah, we have some. Keeping hydrated. Cho’s on call in case we need her.”

“You shouldn’t, but it’s not a bad idea, just in case. Petey, how are you, baby?”

Peter groans from his spot at their feet. “I know I’m gonna throw up again, but I don’t know how, because I don’t know how anything is left in there.”

“Oh, there’s always more left in there. Are you drinking?”

“Yes,” he croaks, lifting his designated bottle of strawberry electrolytes as if May can see it.

“Small sips, baby. Some crackers if you feel up to it.”

“I’m never eating again.”

“Now that’s a lie,” May laughs.

“You’re laughing at my pain!”

“No, baby, I’m laughing at the fact that the mighty Spider-man can still get the stomach flu.”

“‘Mighty,’” Tony snorts. Pepper weakly smacks his arm and leans her head on his shoulder.

“Hey! I will throw up on you!” Peter pushes himself off the bed to try and glare at Tony, but apparently it’s too much work because he immediately collapses back to the bed, curling back into a ball. 

“Try it, kid. We’re both well equipped for that battle. There will be no winners.”

“Nobody is throwing up on anybody,” Pepper interrupts. “May, we’ll be fine. Peter is a spider, Tony has plenty of experience throwing up, and I don’t have more than a day to waste on this.”

“You know, I thought he couldn’t get sick. Tony, didn’t Bruce say he shouldn’t be able to get sick?”

“Yeah, he did. So we’re gonna have words whenever he gets back. I wasn’t prepared for a sick spider-baby.”

“Not a baby!” Peter grumbles and flops back over so he’s facing the large television set. 

“We’ll run some tests, May. For now, I’m just glad it’s only a stomach bug. Even if we all have it.”

“On Christmas, Aunt May!”

“You should be better by Christmas, baby. If not, we’ll do Christmas next weekend.”

“Yes, we will!” Pepper agrees, rubbing her foot against Peter’s shoulders. “And we’ll have better gifts than this nonsense.”

“Eh, it’s not the worst Christmas I’ve ever had,” Tony laughs. “It’s not even the most I’ve thrown up on Christmas.” Pepper groans beside him.

“Don’t shake the bed, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls onto his stomach. “And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“You’ll all probably be better by Christmas,” May laughs again. “But I am not coming there until all your digestive tracts are completely empty. I can’t risk bringing anything here.”

“Of course not, May. Save yourself--oh, oh, no--” Pepper jumps off the bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Is she alright?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. “She’s just too good to puke in a bag like the rest of us.”

“Throw away the garbage can when this is done, Tony.”

“That’s the plan,” Tony grunts as he’s hit with a hard cramp. “We’ll be fine, May.”

“Ok. Pete, baby, if you don’t pee for more than five hours, let Tony or Pepper know.”

“May!”

“And Tony, take notes. Kids are always ill.”

“Oh, super.”

“Take it easy, and drink what you can, slowly. Try eating some dry toast in the morning. I’ll call then, ok?”

“Thanks, May.”

“Love you, Peter. Call you tomorrow.”

“‘K. Love you.”

“Bye, Tony. Tell Pepper bye. And she should be peeing every three hours.”

“Got it, May. ‘Night.”

The line clicks dead, leaving only the sound of poor Pepper retching in the bathroom. “Ugh. Sorry for the shitty Christmas, kid.”

“It’s alright,” Peter sniffs and burps. He reaches out to grip Tony’s foot. “At least I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, you’re not,” Tony grunts and struggles to push himself up, reaching down to press his palm against Peter’s forehead. He’s still a little warm, but not as clammy as earlier. Tony smiles despite himself as Peter presses into the touch. “FRI, what’s his temp?”

“Peter’s temperature is currently 100.1. Your temperature is 100.3. Miss Pott’s temperature is 99.7.” 

“Thanks,” Tony ruffles Peter’s hair and slumps back against his pillow prop. “Alert us if anyone reaches 101.”

“Of course, Boss.”

“Try and drink some more of that, Pete,” Tony nods to the bottle on the bed, even though he knows he can’t see him. “Pep? You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” she weakly calls through the door. “I’m just gonna sit here for a few more minutes.”

“Ok. Call if you need anything,” Tony inhales deeply as a fresh wave of nausea rushes over him. “We’ll--shit, we’ll figure something out with the kid’s web shooters.” He adjusts himself against the pillows and reaches for one of the bright blue bags on the nightstand. “Pretty shitty Christmas gift, huh?”

“I guess it’s kinda funny…”

“It’ll be funny when this is over. And after I’ve sent the health department to that restaurant. No more thruway hibachi.”

“Got it, Mr. Stark,” Peter reaches out to grab one of the large decorative pillows at the end of the bed and pushes it under his head.

“You know, you can come up here.”

“No, I think it’s safer for us both if I stay down here, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony burps and starts opening up the folded plastic bag. “What do you say we put on a Christmas movie before the next round starts?”

“We don’t have to, Mr. Stark. I know it’s not really your thing.”

“No, no,” he pushes the pillow with his foot. “As sad as it is, I wasn’t lying. This is shaping up to be one of my better Christmases, so why not go hard? Your pick.”

“Mmmm, Die Hard.”

“Die Hard? Seriously? You’re one of those people?” Pepper is also one of those people, Tony learned their first holiday together. Unfortunately, he hears her start to retch again in the bathroom.

“No,” Peter deadpans. “But I’m feeling murderous, so like you said, let’s go hard.”

“Got it. FRI, play Die Hard. Not too loud,” Tony sinks into his pillows, setting the now open--and ready--barf bag on his stomach. “Merry Christmas, kid. Let’s not do this again sometime.”

Peter laughs. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In about two hours in-story time, the diarrhea will start. May will find it hilarious. And Pepper will be fine...norovirus isn't actually that bad for pregnant women.
> 
> This is about as Christmas-y as I get, folks. Merry Christmas, and keep the change, ya filthy animals.


End file.
